


Letting Go

by Bibanana



Series: The scenes we don't see [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Feels, Gen, Injury, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Train of Thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana
Summary: Sherlock's train of thought while looking at his scars.
Series: The scenes we don't see [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678477
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to London by Greyson Chance on repeat and had to get all of this angst out.  
> Vaguely inspired by all of Ranowa's Post-Reichenbach works. I've been binge-reading her fics and had to vent the feels.

Sherlock looked in the cracked motel mirror and his stomach a somersaulted. His face was etched in red lines and spotted with dark bruises. He gripped the edges of the sink, staring into the dirty drain, and tried to force the bile back down. His vision swam and he tried to tell himself that it was just painkillers and sleep deprivation, but it wasn’t. These wounds, they were his trophies for all he had done.

Trophies representing every person he killed

Contrary to popular belief among Scotland Yarders, he had never killed before this. Though he held his head high and took danger like a drug, he never would have thought he had the courage to kill, to watch the life in someone’s eyes blink out like a light. John did, of course. He’s a soldier, he has practice.

_John. Oh, dear god, John._

John wouldn’t even recognize him. Who he had become. All of those serial murderers he had put behind bars before, they had _nothing_ on him.

Not like Sherlock’s victims were anywhere near innocent. No, they were people that needed to be taken care of. Terrorists, human traffickers, drug dealers. Workers for Moriarty. But they were human, all the same. Some of them hadn’t meant to get into such a horrible business. Some of them were so, so _young_.

There was one woman, merely a girl, just grasping at twenty years, and she had begged. “Please, please, I’m sorry. I needed the money. I have a daughter, a toddler, back at home. Her father is an alcoholic, she can’t go live with him. Please.” The tears had been streaming down her face and her words genuinely sounded sincere.

Sherlock put a bullet through her brain.

He hadn’t even hesitated. His hands hadn’t shaken even the slightest bit. Because he was there to do his job and nothing more. He couldn’t let sentiment get the better of him. He couldn’t take risks.

John would be so disappointed, so _disgusted_ , if he knew.

And what’s ironic, is he was doing all of this _for John_ . He didn’t actually _want_ to go ridding the world of all who is evil. But these people, they have John’s name written on their gun. They would kill again, if not John, then someone else who didn’t deserve it.

Sherlock took a shaky breath and forced his eyes back up to the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man staring back. His head was shaved and his face looked like it had been used as a punching bag (it had) and his eyes were glazed from the black market painkillers he had managed to purchase and he was bleeding from his shoulder through his shirt and his thrift-store jeans were filthy and torn.

This was _not_ the consulting detective who managed to dress posh, despite having a flat share and spoke quickly and confidently, without the slightest stammer (a new feature that had developed after being punched in the jaw one too many times).

He knew, over time, the scars would fade and the wounds would heal. He knew eventually the nightmares that plagued him would eventually become nothing but distant memories. But he also knew that it would never go back to normal.

According to Mycroft, John wasn’t taking his death very lightly. Drinking, late to work, cutting off contact with everyone from their past, refusing to take cabs, the list goes on.

Also according to Mycroft, John had found someone he was serious about. A woman.

It had been too long, things had changed too much. Sherlock could only hope that this woman was taking care of him and would help him to move on. Because next stop was Serbia and the chances that Sherlock would survive were slim. If Sherlock didn’t come back, John would have to let go, for real.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, we all know what happens in Serbia. Poor Sherlock, but at least he survives.


End file.
